


Personal Space

by Harukami



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harukami/pseuds/Harukami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whoops that was a couple of busy weeks! Finally doing some of the remaining Aoba-ship fetish fics :> It's my birthday and what better to celebrate with than some kinky Cleao?</p><p>Clear and Aoba spend a night out on the roof.  Contains: public masturbation, orgasm denial, begging. (fetishes suggested by @officialbizness, @vaultedthewall on tumblr).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space

It's a fine, cool night, and Clear and Aoba are sprawled back on the roof of Aoba's house together watching the stars. Clear's got an arm under Aoba, pillowing his head; he's the one who got them up there, of course, helped lift Aoba from the veranda onto the roof. It's not the first time they've done it; they go up here often enough on nice days just to enjoy the breeze, for Aoba to listen to Clear make up stories about what constellations he fancies are up there, what the stars might be thinking.

Tonight, however, Aoba is getting the impression that Clear has other things in mind.

He first realizes it when Clear's arm around him slides around him more tightly, his other hand clasping Aoba's free hand. Within moments he's trapped, unable to move his arms or get up, Clear's cheek resting against his. It's not a problem, exactly, but:

"Aoba-san, do you want to know what I'm thinking right now?"

The tone of Clear's voice, low and resonant, sends a thrill through Aoba. He tries to contain his shiver but he knows that if anyone could feel it, it's Clear. "No idea," he says, tone trying to warn Clear away from funny business.

Clear ignores his signal and smiles against his ear; Aoba can feel it curling there. "I'm thinking about how beautiful you look when you're naked."

"Haa..." Aoba makes a face. "That's not the kind of word you use for a man. Anyway, we're outside right now."

"Mm... But you are beautiful, Aoba-san. Lean and muscular. You've got a very erotic body."

Aoba can't quite keep himself from squirming at the soft low hum in his ear. But he can't do anything more than squirm, held completely in place by Clear. "A-ah, that's..."

"I really enjoy you," Clear goes on, relentless. "The hot hard curve of your cock--"

"Clear!" Aoba protests, cheeks heating up, breath coming more quickly. 

"Your warm, accepting body..." Clear lets out a soft laugh, seeing the effect he's having. "Your soft sounds. Aoba-san, you really are perfect. Sometimes I feel like I was made just for you, because everything you do is wonderful."

"Enough," Aoba protests, a little embarrassed by how turned on he's getting, his voice more sulky than genuinely argumentative. "...Do you want to go inside?"

Clear smiles again. "No," he says. "It's a nice night."

"But..."

Aoba can't finish his protest; Clear leans in and starts sucking his earlobe, dragging it gently between his teeth, letting out a little sigh as he shifts to Aoba's neck instead, kissing and biting and sucking gently.

Drawing a great shivering breath, Aoba tries to shift his legs to get leverage, to get up, but Clear moves his leg, pins those down too. With Clear's inhumanly-strong arms pinning his arms down, his leg pinning his legs down, Aoba has nowhere to go and can't even begin to get up. He wants to feel embarrassed, but the idea of this, being restrained on his own roof while Clear slowly sucks a hickey into this throat, only turns him on more. His cock is already hard, throbbing and pressing uncomfortably against his pants.

"Clear," he says anyway, voice a little thick. "We're outside, so..."

"So what?" Clear murmurs. "It's night, so people are surely sleeping."

"P-people don't always sleep just because it's night, Clear, you and I aren-- ahh-!"

He manages to strangle his voice at the last second, keep his cry a faint gasp, eyes closing and biting his lower lip as Clear rolls the skin of his throat between his teeth. He's feeling good all over, his skin too-sensitive, every gust of wind seeming to caress his skin and turn him on more. 

Clear doesn't stop, just slowly making out with his throat, his jaw, his mouth when Aoba turns to kiss him. He goes on for minutes, tens of minutes, just slowly turning Aoba on more and more, making him squirm and shudder and strangle his voice as best he can, refusing to let him up. He's so turned on he wants nothing more than to get off, get fucked, be touched, something, but he still can't move any of his limbs.

"Clear, please," Aoba whispers.

"Please what?" Clear murmurs back. 

"Touch me..." Even as he says it, he knows he should be embarrassed. They're still outside; there's plenty of windows facing their way, and the outdoor street lights never let the city be fully dark. If anyone looks out now, they could see him like this. He knows that, but he still can't keep himself from softly begging. "Please, Clear, touch me. I want you to hold me..."

"Mm..." Clear loosens his grip on Aoba's arms and the sudden freedom felt heady; he still couldn't lift his legs, not with Clear's leg an iron bar across them, but his hands almost tingled with the realization he could move. "Touch yourself."

"What, but?"

"I want to see," Clear says, still resting his head against Aoba's. "Let me watch you like this."

"Ahh..." 

He shouldn't; he knows he shouldn't, but he finds himself doing it anyway, imagining Clear's hot eyes on him, closing his own and pretending he's far away from the rest of the world as he unzips himself, drags his aching cock out, curls his fingers around it. "Fuck..."

"Does it feel good? Having waited this long," Clear whispers to him.

It's not like Clear hasn't been waiting too; in the position they're in, he can feel Clear's cock against his hip, hard and demanding. But Aoba's never sure how much sensation and demand and desire feel the same to him, and he knows Clear isn't sure either.

"It feels good..." he breathes back, stroking himself.

He doesn't have the patience to tease, takes himself in a firm grip and begins jerking himself off hard and fast, palm and fingers tight. His breath is already ragged, cock already throbbing; he's turned on to the point of pain and beats himself off hard, whining, hips jerking up into his touch. There's no way he can last, he doesn't want to last, he wants to come as soon as possible--!

Clear's grip suddenly comes back to his arms, pulls his hands away from himself.

He lets out a keen, far too loud in the night air, but can't hold his voice back. "Clear!"

"You're going too fast."

"I want to come--!"

"Not yet, Aoba-san."

"Please, Clear!"

"Not yet."

"Please," Aoba begs. "Please, please..."

But Clear holds his hands back for thirty seconds, forty, a minute, two, and he feels the edge of orgasm slipping away. He lets out a sob, desperate, and begs again, "Please, Clear, let me touch myself..."

"Ah, of course," Clear says, as if he hasn't been preventing it this long already, and lets go of Aoba's hands.

He curls his fingers around himself in a fumbling grip; his legs are barely parted but that doesn't matter; he grabs his balls in the other hand, squeezing and rolling them, sliding fingers back to press against his perineum as he jerks himself again, fast and hard, breath ragged in the air, almost there--

And then Clear grabs his hands again.

"Clear, you bastard--"

Clear laughs, delighted. "Just a bit more, Aoba-san. Don't come too fast, I want to see you completely wild."

And he sucks on Aoba's neck while he shudders and tries to free his hands and jerks his hips helplessly into the air.

He loses track of how many times Clear does it, how many times Clear lets him get almost there before he pulls him away and forces him to calm down again. Time seems to blur in a haze of arousal and need, a delirious near-agony, deep pleasure, until he's sweating in the cold air and shuddering and feeling completely alive, every nerve on fire with want, pleas and promises spilling from his lips over and over until Clear whispers in his ear, "Okay, Aoba-san, come," and although he frees his hands, Aoba doesn't even have time to touch himself; it's like permission is enough, like the words themselves wrap around his cock and touch him, and he comes without getting to touch himself, fingers curling uselessly in the air, cock spurting and spraying across his stomach, his shirt; he feels some hit his bruised neck dribble down to Clear's lips.

Clear licks at it, watching him; Aoba can feel his intense gaze and god knows who else is watching. He can't find it in himself to care, just riding his orgasm frantically, hips bucking into the air, slowly, slowly coming down and relaxing, his entire body shuddering with exhaustion into the cool night air as he lies there numbly, hardly able to move from the force of it.

Sitting up, Clear slings a leg over him, straddles his hips and undoes his own pants, jerks himself off fast and hard and comes almost at once with a satisfied groan, hot come joining the spatters cooling on Aoba's stomach and soaking through his shirt. There's something unfair about it, but Aoba can't protest, can't do more but lie there and enjoy the feeling of Clear's come on his body, enjoy his exhaustion and Clear's tension and the rough press of the tiles in his back and the night and the streetlights and even the awareness of the wide open space around him, the city spiraling away around him.

Clear comes down from orgasm with a low groan, a satisfied sigh, and it takes Aoba another few literal minutes to gather himself together at all.

"Clear?"

"Yes, Aoba-san?"

"You are such a little shit."

And Clear's laughing and delighted and Aoba has never felt so contradictory at once, totally exposed but feeling like the world consists just of them.


End file.
